


Strength and Weakness

by Rabakholi



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Dirty Talk, Geralt snaps, Jaskier is a babbling mess, M/M, Mentions of Cock Warming, Smut, This is 3.9k words of smut, i guess, possessive geralt, roughish sex, some bastard threatens Jaskier, what else can i say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:13:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22669099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rabakholi/pseuds/Rabakholi
Summary: “If you don't stop this very instant, you will feel what it is like to have your tongue ripped out.”Jaskier's pretty blue eyes were so wide, so round, so pitiful, Geralt's stomach churned. The only situation calling for that kind of wide-eyed look, is when he inevitably will get fucked hard enough to forget where he was and who he was. A brat like him deserved that.The Lord opened his mouth to snarl at the intruder, but shrunk back and stumbled over his feet when he recognised the hair and the eyes; the man.“I should be the one threatening you for touching my man, mylord.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 26
Kudos: 1098





	Strength and Weakness

**Author's Note:**

> You guys.... this is 3.9k words of pure smut, so beware. 
> 
> I wanna thank [riviawitch3er on Tumblr](https://riviawitch3r.tumblr.com/) for beta reading and for making me a better writer. It really shows, wow.   
> Also, go give them a read, they are an amazing writer, and i envy their way with words. 
> 
> I'm also on [Tumblr](https://rhabakoli.tumblr.com), come scream at me.

Geralt was trying to ignore that one woman practically undressing him with her eyes, despite her husband being right by her side, when he heard Jaskier curse and gasp. Immediately, his eyes sought out the bard, finding him pressed against the wall in a rather dark alcove. There was a hand pressed to his chest, some Lord right up in Jaskier's personal space. The beast inside Geralt recoiled at the thought of someone rubbing their scent all over Jaskier, and his body was moving before he was aware.   
“I should rip out your tongue and cut off your balls for even looking at my wife.”   
Oh hell. He really couldn't keep it in his pants, could he?   
“Geralt wouldn't- he wouldn't be very happy about that.”  
Jaskier tried to talk his way out of this situation, but the knife at the soft swell of his belly made him nervous enough to swallow his tongue and stumble over his words.   
Geralt saw red. No one should ever dare to threaten his bard.  _ No one. _   
His stride lengthened, his nostrils flared at the scent of fear in the air. Jaskier's fear.   
**_No one.  
_ ** He'd decimate the smell with the blood and tears of this Lord, he'd make him lick the floor and apologize to his Bard. He would.  _ If  _ he gave in to the beast inside his chest, roaring to right the wrongs. 

Instead, he laid a hand on the Lord's shoulder, his voice deep as he growled into his ear. “If you don't stop this very instant, you will feel what it is like to have your tongue ripped out.”   
Jaskier's pretty blue eyes were so wide, so round, so  _ pitiful,  _ Geralt's stomach churned. The only situation calling for that kind of wide-eyed look, is when he inevitably will get fucked hard enough to forget where he was and who he was. A brat like him deserved that.   
The Lord opened his mouth to snarl at the intruder, but shrunk back and stumbled over his feet when he recognised the hair and the eyes; the man.   
“I should be the one threatening you for touching my man, mylord.”   
Geralt took a step after him, closing in on the Lord. “How dare you insinuate unfaithfulness? My bard?”   
He tilted his head, a smile stretching his lips. A very scary smile, a close imitation of a wild animals snarl.  “Maybe if you spent your time satisfying your wife, instead of going after  _ my partner _ , she'd be faithful to you.”   
His hand wrapped around the scrawny neck, it's size alone a telltale of its ability to snap bones.  They were toe to toe now, Geralt being taller and having to bend down made his statuette so much more imposing.  His voice dropped, bassy growl taking on an almost demonesque quality, as he hissed into the Lord's ear.   
“You will walk away, tell no one of this. You will never even look at my bard, nor think of him. I will find you, if you do.”   
The second he released the man, he scrambled away, almost falling on his nose as he did.   
Geralt was still tense, muscles coiled, ready to unleash fury on whoever deserved it. After a deep breath, he turned.  Jaskier had remained pressed to the wall, his eyes still wide and trained on the Witcher. His pretty plush lips were parted, the tip of his tongue peeked out when he licked them. A nervous habit.   
Geralt's beast grumbled in his chest, thoughts and pictures of where this tongue could be, what it could do, flew by before his eyes. He couldn't hold back much longer, having suppressed his need, his desire for far too long. His blood ran hot, almost boiling, as he took in the bard. His lithe figure, his floppy hair that would feel like silk between his fingers, his eyes that were so, so beautiful.   
Geralt was short of snapping.   
“Did you- did you just call me your partner?”   
“I called you a lot of names.”   
He swallowed, pushed away from the wall. “You just pretended we were a couple? For me? You didn't call me out on my lie?”   
A bright, blinding smile split Jaskier's face, delight radiating off him like warmth from an oven. He came closer, bounced on his feet and reached up, to cup Geralt's face.   
“I'm safe forever now! No one would dare to anger you, you big bad wolf.”   
Damn right. His beast was preening, cherishing the thought. Geralt was trying not to haul him up and just take him right there against the wall.  So instead, he grabbed the bard's wrist and forced him to follow. “The evening is over, we're leaving.”   
Jaskier either didn't notice his tense mood, or simply chose not to comment. Which, for once, would show his intelligence. 

Instead, he babbled on about the rumors that would surely arise, about Geralt and him being with each other, how he'd be much safer by default, and so on.   
Geralt grew tenser, and tenser, his hands itching to tear off those ruffly clothes, get his hands on the bards arse, displayed so well in those tight, tight breeches. To curl a hand in those dark locks, pull his head to the side and bury his face in the crook of his neck, nose right on that spot under the jaw where his scent was the strongest. He wanted, wanted so much, right now, couldn't hold back.   
“Really, Geralt, I'm so glad you were there, otherwise he'd have shishkebabed me right there against the wall.”   
_ Enough.   
_ For the first time since Jaskier sauntered into his life and refused to leave, did he use his abilities on him.  Jaskier squeaked when the forceful push against his chest plastered his back against the door. Geralt was upon him just half a second later, one hand clapped over his mouth, the other flat against the door next to his head.   
Jaskier was once more reminded how huge Geralt actually was. How dangerous he was. How he could manhandle him without breaking a sweat. He swallowed audibly. His dick in his breeches took interest, seemingly very happy with the proximity to the Witcher.   
Geralt's eyes were piercing, his voice dripping with anger, tension and frustration.  “You are the bane of my existence,  _ bard _ . How did you think this would go? Did you think you can just stick it wherever and get away with it?”   
He stepped closer, pressed his knee between Jaskier's and higher. A small, cruel smile found its way onto his face, when he felt Jaskier's… excitement.  
“You think you can go around, solving your problems with  _ my name?  _ Use _ my reputation  _ to stay safe from angry husbands?”   
He hiked his knee higher, provided more friction against the bard's crotch.  
“You think you can do all that, without consequences? Without giving  _ me _ what I deserve for putting up with you?”   
Jaskiers hips moved, rubbing against thick muscle and soft leather. His moan was muffled by Geralt's hand, still covering the bards mouth.   
“You think you can make me your lover without me reaping the benefits?” He shifted the hold on him, wrapped his fingers around Jaskier's throat. His lips were ghosting just above the bards, teasing him.   
“Think again, bard. I'm  _ done _ holding back.”   
“Please-” More, he didn't get out, as Geralt crashed into him, kissed him, devoured him. Never had he been kissed like that, like a man drowning and he was land. He tried to move, tried to get  _ closer _ , but he couldn't. Not with a hand wrapped around his neck and that perfect,  _ perfect  _ thigh pressed between his.   
Geralt heard the little noises, as low as they were, bit more importantly, he  _ felt them _ . Felt the vibrations under his hand, against his skin, spreading up his arm. He had to suppress a groan. How would it feel, if it was his cock the bard whined around? If the bard was stuffed full so he could barely breathe and was forced shut up for  _ once in his life.   
_ Geralt pulled back, cruel smirk back in place when he noticed how disheveled Jaskier looked already.   
“Look at you. Look how  _ needy  _ you are. How absolutely  _ desperate _ .”   
He wrapped an arm around Jaskier, picked him up, buried his other hand in his curly hair and made sure he looked right at him with those blue eyes. The bed wasn't far away, just a couple strides of Geralt's long legs, and then he was dumped onto the bed, expensive mattress bouncing with the impact. Before he had any chance to situate himself, get some semblance of control over his body, he was flipped over. A strong hand between his shoulder blades hindered any attempt to move, and strong thighs bracketing his weren't helping either.   
He was completely at Geralt's mercy, and he  _ loved it.  _ His affairs here and there were fun, but never promised more than a quick in and out, a way to let go of his frustration and the sexual tension. But now this? The way Geralt had stepped up for him, how he manhandled him, the way he didn't stop touching him for more than a second?   
He felt like he was dreaming, his blood loud in his ears as his heart tried to pump enough blood to his brain to keep him from passing out.   
“ _ Don't _ move.”   
As if he ever would. Not now. Not when he was  _ so close _ . Jaskier just nodded, stretched his arms up over his head and pressed his face against his bicep. The mattress dipped, Geralt's weight above him shifted and placed his hands to both sides of the bards head.   
“When you tell people you're with me, do you think about  _ this? _ ”   
His hips rolled, his rock hard cock, trapped as it was, nestled between Jaskier's cheeks, teasing the breath out of him.   
Shit.   
Oh God of Bards, please let him have that.   
He imagined how it would feel, how Geralt knew how to work it, seeing as his prostitutes tended to like having him back.   
“You thought about me above you? Shielding you with my body, keeping you  _ safe _ ?”   
His hips now stronger, more forceful. “Or did you think about my cock? How it would feel inside of you? How I'd split you open, leave you broken for anyone else? Did you think about how it would be? How I'd make you  _ mine _ ?”   
He pressed a chaste kiss to the back of Jaskier's neck, then sat up, back onto the bards thighs, and then his hands were back. They traveled down his shoulders, down his sides, stopped at his hips, for just a second, before Jaskier felt Geralt's broad palms on his ass, kneading it, pulling and pressing, his fingertips sure to leave marks, even through the leather.   
“Maybe we should think of a new name for you. You are no innocent little flower, bard. You are a siren. You're calling to me day and night, taunting me with your perfect little ass, flaunting it in front of me and everyone else.”   
Jaskier rutted into the mattress, he  _ needed  _ some relief. The friction was delicious enough to make his eyes close, his teeth clench.   
And then it was gone. 

“No.” 

Geralt's hands were vices around his hips, having pulled them up and robbed him of that sweet relief.   
“No, the only one giving you what you want is me.”   
His hands traveled down that fit little ass, to grip the very top of his thighs, his fingers dipping between them, teasing Jaskier even more.   
“You will beg, and you will suffer.”   
He bent forward, pressed his dick back against Jaskier's butt. A press of lips at the top of his shoulder, stark in contrast to his words.   
“And you will love it.”   
His hands came around, tugged open the laces of his breeches. Jaskier was shaking with want, with desire, with mindless horniness. He was pressing back against the Witcher, little moans escaping him.  
Another shiver, a never-ending one.   
Geralt's voice was the most potent aphrodisiac, and his words caused all the blood in his body to flow to his dick. He felt light headed.   
Geralt's hands came around, slipped under the leather and shoved them down his ass, left them bunched up underneath.   
His deep, appreciative grumble went straight to Jaskier's dick.   
“You have the most wonderful ass. Like a ripe apple.”  
He bent down, grabbed one cheek and sunk his teeth in.  Under him, the bard howled and cursed, and jerked away, but Geralt tugged him back to lay down another mark.   
“You won't be able to sit.” A dark chuckle. “And not only because you're good enough to eat. Which you are. I could make a meal out of you. Eat you for days, eat you, until my jaw aches and my lips are numb and all I can taste and smell is  _ you _ . I could take you apart and put you back together until you can’t remember anything but my name, until my body gives out. Whichever comes first.”   
He hummed at the thought. “Oh, the times I have thought about having you under me, taking you, providing you pleasure no mortal man would ever be able to… It has kept me  _ awake for weeks. _ ”  
A smack to his ass, then another one and then the soft press of Geralt's lips on his power back.    
“And now I will return the favor, and keep  _ you _ awake for just as long, if not longer.”   
His hands kneaded his butt, thumbs dipping into the cleft of his arse.  
“Stay.”  
And then he was off.   
The Witcher got off his bed, went over to Jaskier's pouch and rummaged in it, before he came up with a small vial in his huge hands.   
On his way back, he shed his layers, until he was left in those tight black pants, with the buttons undone.   
And, for fucks sake, did he have to look like that?   
Like the very personification of Jaskier's dreams? Everything he ever wanted, ever dreamt of?   
He groaned at the sight, the hair on his chest, how it spread down, shrunk to a treasure trail leading into his pants. On second look, the flaps of his pants barely kept his cock confined, it's head peeking out on top.   
“Geralt.”, He whined, swayed his hips. “Please.”   
He hummed in answer, a smile on his lips. “So needy. So hungry for me, aren't you?”   
He came over, set a knee on the bed and beckoned him over. “Come here, Jaskier.”   
Didn't need to say that twice.   
He was up immediately, crawled over to where Geralt stood and got up on his knees as well.  Jaskier dared to put his hands on Geralt's stomach -for balance -, felt his muscles flexing underneath them.   
“Sweet little bard.”   
His hand came up, cupped his cheek. “So sweet, so precious.”   
Jaskier turned his head, kissed Geralt's palm.  The taller tilted his head upwards, to be able to kiss him properly. It was soft, almost sweet.   
And then Geralt angled his head, his hand now on the back of Jaskier's neck, the other on his ass.   
“So sweet, it's going to be a pleasure to ruin you.”   
Teeth captured his lips, pulled, Jaskier gasped and couldn't help but rut against Geralt.   
“I will draw out every single fantasy you ever had, and I will make you live through them, and you will love it.”   
A nip at his jaw, tongue soothing over.   
“Every. Single. One.”   
His hands fisted the front of Jaskier's shirt, clenched, pulled. The harsh sound of fabric ripping pulled Jaskier out of his clouded mind.   
“Hey! That was one of my best shirts!”   
Geralt didn't seem especially perturbed. He just shrugged and mumbled into Jaskier's skin. “I'll give you mine.”   
He nipped, bit and licked a trail down his chest, got on his knees for him.   
“I'll make you scream my name, Jaskier. I'll stuff you full, and then even fuller, until you're leaking.”   
He eyed Jaskier's dick, rock hard and twitching at his words, and grinned. “And then I'll stay in you, for as long as I want.”   
A much more violent twitch.   
A broad grin.   
And suddenly he was up, Jaskier was back on his stomach and Geralt was finally,  _ finally,  _ tugging off his breeches. He grabbed the blankets, bunched them in his hands, tried not to seek out relief against the fine fabric, but hell, was it hard.   
He didn't notice Geralt shucking off his own pants, only noticed how there was naked skin against his thigh, the witchers heavy weight along his back.   
“You are precious, my little flower. You're mine to look at, you're mine to touch, to smell, to nurture. You're mine to reap, and mine alone.”   
The sound of a cork being popped echoed through the room, making Jaskier jump a bit.    
“Geralt, please, just- Oh fuck.”    
Cool oil dribbled down the small of his back, down the cleft of his ass, coated his rim and made its way further. Geralt caught it with a finger pressed against his skin, right behind his balls, before he drew up and circled around Jaskiers rim.    
“Hmm.”    
Jaskier pressed his forehead against the bedding, spread his knees and pressed back against the Witcher.    
“Oh, you’re so needy. You want this finger?” Said finger breached him, pulled back, pushed forward again. It didn’t take long for the bard to beg for more, to make him shiver and babble, but Geralt prepared him well, steadily, completely unaffected by his bards begging and panting.    
Finally, fucking finally, just when Jaskier thought he’d explode and climb the man, his fingers left him, just to be replaced by the heady feeling of a cock pressing against his opening.    
“You want this? You want my cock?”    
“Yes, please. Please Geralt. I want you, please.”    
The Witcher grunted, wrapped his hands around Jaskiers waist and held him exactly where he wanted him. He knew he probably left bruises on Jaskier, but judging by the low moans and the trashing going on, the pressing back and the scent of want and sex and lust wafting through the air - he wasn’t all too disturbed by the thought. 

“Oh, fuck, yes,  _ GERALT.” _ He was trying to pull away, get him to move, once he was bottomed out, but Geralt didn’t let him. He just, held on, stayed still to take it all in. The way Jaskier was begging, almost angry now, the way he was squirming in his hands, clenching down on him in an effort to make him move. It was delicious, and he’d make sure no one else would get to experience this, ever.    
So he leaned in, his lips against that spot at Jaskier’s jaw, that made him go weak in his arms, one wrapped around him and the other next to him on the bed.    
“You want me to move? You want me to fuck you?”    
The bard nodded, lips pressed together, nostrils flared.    
“Oh, little flower.” He nipped at Jaskiers jaw before straightening back up.    
Jaskier missed the warmth immediately, but didn’t get to say anything. His breath was pushed out of him, his brain was mush, as soon as Geralt started to move.    
He didn’t give him any more time to adjust, he pistoned into Jaskier, his hips slapping against Jaskiers ass, the sound filthy and heady, mixing with the Bards moans, with his sighs and Geralt's grunts and curses.   
“You won’t be able to walk. You’ll be sore for  _ days. _ ”   
Jaskier keened at that, moved faster against Geralt, disrupted their rhythm.    
Which, Geralt did not appreciate.    
The manhandling caught Jaskier by surprise, the display of strength made him groan, his head already swimming. Geralt had pulled out, kicked his knees away and straddled his closed thighs. “I’m in control here, little flower. You don’t get to decide, you just take what I give you.”   
And then he pushed back in, the first breach in this new angle making Jaskier almost scream, the moan loud enough to be heard outside the room.    
“Fuck, Geralt, please. Touch me, let me touch me, please, I can’t take it.”   
“Yes, you can.”    
He could. He had to. Every push of Geralt’s hips against his ass made him rut against the bed, his dick trapped between his stomach and the mattress. The friction was delicious.    
Geralt’s hips were undulating, his groans growing louder, his hands pressed harder, his cock deeper. And then he found that one spot that had Jaskier scream for real.   
The sound refocused Geralt, filled him with new vigor and energy, he moved faster now, chased those sounds and their pleasure.    
“Yes, Jaskier. Scream for me. Make it known you’re mine, and mine alone."   
The dark, possessive growl was what pushed him over the edge. Jaskier’s scream got stuck in his throat, his body locked, his hands fisted the sheets. He could feel his spend on his stomach, warm and sticky, his limbs grew heavy and he tried not to pass out.    
He wanted to feel Geralt, wanted to feel him come.    
“You did so good, little flower, my little dandelion.”    
A soft kiss to his shoulder, two, three thrusts before Geralt froze, stayed as deep as it would go. A deep, satisfied groan clawed its way out of his chest, spilled over his lips, into Jaskiers skin.   
Silence covered them like a blanket, their skin sticky with sweat, Geralt's words ringing in Jaskiers ears. He thought it was over, Geralt would move and leave, and he’d not see him again for a couple months at least. His heart clenched at that, and he knew it was irrational, not after such an obvious display of possessiveness and desire, but Jaskier couldn’t help it.    
“You’re thinking.”    
Jaskier turned his head, tried to catch a glimpse of the man still spread above him, still pulsing inside him. “I am human, humans think.”    
“Hm.” He littered kisses along the bard's shoulders, everywhere he could reach without moving much.    
“I may have to fuck you a couple more times then. If you’re still coherent, I obviously haven’t done a satisfying job.”    
Jaskiers dick was interested enough to twitch, his body covered in goosebump at the words.    
“What?”    
“I told you, Jaskier. I’m staying in you for as long as I want to.”    
He shifted, just slightly, to take some of his weight off Jaskier and, coincidentally, drive his cock deeper. His hands covered all of Jaskier, calloused, rough hands being so gentle and warm, it made Jaskier feel safe, cherised - made his chest hurt at the thought this could be over at some point soon.   
“Mhhm, and I will never not want you. I will never not dream of your body in my hands, your soft skin, your smell in my nose. I will never not get hard when you wear those tight clothes, tease me all day long. My self control will never not suffer around you, because-”    
He bent down, his fingertips just barely brushing along his cheekbone.    
“-my little flower-”   
Another kiss, Jaskiers heart clenching at the words, at the unexpected tenderness.   
“- you’re my weakness and my strength, Julian.”   
The usage of his given name made him whimper, tears threatening to spill over. Could it be?    
Could he be talking about-   
“You’re still thinking.”    
Jaskier nodded, pressed his face into the fabric below him.    
“Oh, little flower. You’re in for a very long night.”    
It wasn’t until well into the morning, that Jaskier was able to form a coherent thought.

  
  



End file.
